


Instrument

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dom/sub, Dominance, F/M, Female Thorin, Femdom, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori’s submissive to his lady’s pleasure, like any good Dwarven man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instrument

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MocaJava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MocaJava/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Dwarf women hold all the power in the bedroom. As there are so few of them a male considers himself very fortunate to be invited to their bed and are completely submissive to the female, only doing what she wants them to do, because if they displease her in any way they know they'll be kicked out and replaced with someone who will do a better job. [...] A sex scene between a female Dwarf and male Dwarf where you see this in action, the female Dwarf being bossy and aggressive and the male dutifully following her instructions.” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=25707266#t25707266).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When Ori arrives in the queen’s chambers, he’s nearly trembling. He feels so _honoured_ , and all he can do is wring his hands together and wonder how he’ll say that, how he’ll express his gratitude and his promise to _try_ , even though he’s sure he can’t be worthy. The guards at the doors let Ori through without a second glance—he’s one of the original party, and for that, he gets some preferential treatment. But he never would’ve imagined _this_ , and he still thinks it must be some mistake—surely Thorin meant to send for Dori, or even Nori instead. 

Ori’s only been used by a few women in his time. Never the stronger alphas of a pack, so to speak, but more a flirty, fun-lover here and there that just wanted a soft toy for the evening. He knows the customs all the same, though he checked with Balin to make sure that Erebor’s weren’t much different than the Blue Mountains’. Dori and Nori trained him well, though, of course, he surely can’t measure up to those truly from a royal court. As Ori kneels down beside the bed, he feels distinctly like Dwalin should be in his place: someone strong and sturdy, more flexible and agile and generally talented. Bofur’s chosen often—perhaps Ori should’ve spoken to him beforehand and picked up a few tricks. Or talked to Bombur or Glóin, who managed to please women so well that they’ve been repeatedly claimed by the same one. 

Ori’s gone years with nothing but his hand, and now he shuffles in place and wills himself not to let his fingers stray between his thighs. He sits, prone and ready, while the fire blazes in the hearth across the room, and the hours tick away. 

By the time Ori actually hears the doors open, he’s finally relaxed. But then Thorin strolls into the room, and all the tension comes rushing back. Ori goes rigid, bowing his head submissively. He hears more than sees Thorin kick off her boots, take off the crown, and slip out of her long robes. “Sorry for the wait,” she says, in her gruff, deep voice, toneless but somehow still erotic, or perhaps the anticipation is just clouding Ori’s mind. “I had a rather tiring meeting with a Dale representative. But I should still have some energy to kill before I sleep.” 

When she turns to glance over her shoulder, Ori hurriedly looks down again, scolding himself for having lifted his gaze at all. Thorin is magnificent and difficult to look away from on normal days. But when Ori’s kneeling by her bed, ready to be taken, she becomes irresistible. 

She walks slowly over, her bare feet padding over the cold stone. She stops just in front of Ori, and he bends himself in two, bowing all the way to the floor. He brushes his lips over the top of each of her feet in the tradition gesture: the offering of his servitude for the night or however long she might wish him for. The submission is the same for any woman, but Thorin is his _queen_ , and Ori’s looked up to her ever since the very first time they met, where Ori nearly melted from the sight of such a handsome woman. Now he respects her in more ways than he can count, and he murmurs, “I’m honoured... Thorin.” He wants to use a title, but she’s always had her twelve companions call her by her name. 

There’s a pause in which Ori holds his breath. He still expects to be sent away. But evidently, she accepts him, because she orders coolly, “Take off your clothes, Ori.” 

Ori nods immediately. He blushes, of course; he has no skills with stripping, though Nori’s offered to teach him many times. He never had enough delusions of his prowess to spend much time on those skills—if a woman would not have him exactly as he is, he can’t compete with all those willing to take his place. He knows that men would come from the Iron Hills on hands and knees at an invitation from Thorin Oakenshield, and it makes it all the harder to force his shaking hands still enough to pull away his clothes. 

He slips his scarf from his neck. He shifts out of his coat, hesitates, then pulls the fingerless gloves off his hands. Perhaps the hardest thing is pulling off his knit sweater—he knows he’s not impressive underneath. His belly is round, but not nearly enough to be considered sexy, and he has no muscles for an alternative. He only has a little bit of brown hair across his chest. Yet Thorin allows him to keep going, so Ori pushes down his trousers and his underpants, until he’s worming out of his boots.

Then he folds everything up in a neat pile and kneels again before her, pinching his thighs together to hide his stout cock. He’s nowhere near as attractive as she deserves, and he can’t bring himself to even steal a glimpse at her face. 

She takes a moment, perhaps reconsidering him, and then she orders simply, “Put your scarf back on: I like the way it looks on you.”

He pulls the thick, grey-purple fabric from the pile and wraps it back around his neck, letting the ends drop down his stomach. She takes a step closer to him, so that her crotch is nearly at his nose, and Ori’s breath hitches. He wants to nuzzle into the valley between her legs and beg to please her, but he doesn’t dare move before she’s ordered it. His tongue is already curling in his mouth. It’s been a long time, but he’s good at following instructions, and he’ll simply do whatever she tells him, like he would with anything. Even if she only wants him for a quick foray before bed, hopefully he’ll be able to bring her off with his clumsy mouth and hands. 

She says, “Get on the bed.” And Ori’s head finally snaps up, eyes going wide. He didn’t think he’d actually make it that far. He reminds himself that it might only be a different position—perhaps she’s going to sit on his face. He turns towards the mattress and clambers up, poised on all fours, and Thorin nods towards the headboard, ordering, “Lie down on your back.” There’s a hint of a smile on her usually stern face, as though she expects to enjoy herself. Ori instantly obeys. 

Her bed is ridiculously soft, as it should be. Ori lies on top of the blankets, head on one of the plush white pillows, trying to stop himself from fidgeting. He’s dreadfully exposed, but she doesn’t spend much time observing him. She will have seen his body before anyway, when they were on the journey here, with nowhere to bathe but streams, and all available men were presented for her. Still in a regal blue tunic, Thorin shuffles out of her black trousers, and Ori’s breath catches as he sees her underwear go with them. She doesn’t bother to take off her top, but Ori can see halfway up her thighs, her strong legs and the smattering of dark hair. She’s beautiful, of course, and he stares at her as she climbs up onto the bed, throwing one leg over him. 

Then he realizes that she’s straddling his _crotch_ , not his face, and he feels dizzy at the sudden thought that he might get to _put himself inside her._ Little him, being inside the great Thorin Oakenshield. He looks at Thorin in utter amazement, while she puts one sturdy hand on his shoulder and dips the other between her legs. Ori watches in fascination as she lifts up her tunic, her fingers rubbing slow circles around her pussy, pink-brown and covered in coarse, black curls. A few crinkled red protrusions stick out of it, and as much as Ori might’ve liked to run his tongue over them, he’s more excited to feel them with his cock. He keeps his own hands unmoving at his sides—he doesn’t have to prepare himself at all. He’s hard just from looking at her and thinking of it. She works her fingers around herself a few times, and he wonders if it’s possible that she could be wet for him without any help. The few times he’s been taken, he always wet and readied them with his mouth first. 

But when Thorin pulls her fingers away, they’re glistening and moist. She scissors her pussy open, holding it ready, and reaches between his legs to grab at his cock. Ori yelps immediately, then wills himself to hush. Her fingers are work-calloused and hard, but stiflingly hot. She holds his cock up and begins to lower down. 

And then the tip of him is pressing into her, and he pops inside, while she moves her hands away to hold onto his chest. 

She drops her full weight onto him, and Ori _moans_ , nearly _screams_ —his cock shoots right up inside her, silken against her slick, loose walls, and Thorin’s moaning too, her head thrown forward and her eyes closed, elegant, wavy, long hair obscuring her face. Ori goes almost all the way inside before her body naturally stops him, and even though his hips are shivering and desperate to buck up, he doesn’t move. She wriggles atop him, slipping down in small, round movements, until she’s taken him to the hilt, and he’s buried deep inside. 

He thinks he might pass out. It’s far better than he remembers it. It’s _amazing_ —she’s amazing—her soft, hot walls squeezing at him, squelching around him, seeming to pulse with life. Every time her walls twitch even slightly, Ori whines. Having his cock swallowed up by Thorin Oakenshield is easily the most rapturous experience he’s ever had, and all he can do is whimper and try not to squirm. 

She takes a few seconds to adjust, and then she tosses her hair regally back over her shoulders, straightening up, her curvaceous body all soft fat and hard muscles: everything in one. She’s heavy—too heavy for him—but he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Her mouth parts only slightly, obscured by her thick mustache, fuller and prouder than Ori’s, like all of her. Even her braids are neater, more valuable-looking. She rocks her hips once, and then she lifts up her hips, letting him slide half-out.

Then she slams down again, only to rise, pound him into the mattress and do it again. Thorin pummels into him, devouring his cock and teasingly releasing it again, eating him up in quick, brutal thrusts that leave Ori breathless. Thorin does all the work herself—while her palms slide over his bare chest, her legs clench and work her hips. She fucks him hard, relentless, looking down at him with those gorgeous, intense grey eyes, until Ori is trembling and desperate to touch her. He lifts his hands off the mattress, not daring to do more, and he licks his lips. He wants to ask for permission to touch her, absolutely anywhere, though he’d really like to part her tunic open, and especially to run his fingers through her hair and rub his beard against the scruff of her chin, kiss her until she’s just as breathless. Every time her pussy swallows him, it’s more merciless than the last, and Ori quickly works into a sweat from doing no more than bouncing in the mattress, sliding with the force of her thrusts. He doubts he’ll last long. 

She sits up suddenly, letting his engorged cock pop right out of her fucked-open hole, and she pulls him up by the scarf. Ori has no time to do anything but gasp and go where she takes them. She rolls them right over, so that she lands in the mattress and he’s in the air, her legs spread open around him. She wastes no time shoving his cock back into her, and then she growls, “Fuck me,” so erotically that, for one quick moment, Ori’s vision blurs. Her pussy clenches around him, his arms shaking on either side of her. She grabs his hands and wrenches them away, throwing him off balance. 

He collapses on top of her, just as she clamps his hands around her breasts. He can feel her hard nipples poking up through the fabric. She makes him squeeze, tossing her own head back to moan, and Ori scrambles to obey, kneading her warm flesh in both his hands at once. He rolls her breasts around and uses his fingers to massage her as best he can, while she slaps his hip and he tries to move. He feels vaguely like a horse being spurred on, but that’s as it should be. He tries to throw his hips into hers as hard as he can, but he can’t make it anywhere near as powerful as she did. 

When Thorin kisses him, none of that matters. Ori feels her lips against his, and he opens right up, taking the sudden thrust of her tongue. Her hips canter up into his, helping him to fuck her, and the two of them bounce together with the lewd slapping sounds of flesh-on-flesh. Kissing her almost tickles—her beard is thicker than his—but it’s also _perfection_ , and Ori’s ravenous for it, taking every last kiss he’s given. There are only a few spots where she pulls back enough to let him swirl his tongue around her, but he does at every chance he gets, otherwise surrendering to the sway of her want. 

He wants to come. He wants to come _so badly_ —her pussy’s so hot; the pressure’s blissful—and her breasts feel so wonderful in his hands, and he can’t get enough of her kisses—but he _can’t_ come first. Dwarven instinct holds him back; he knows better than to spill himself before he’s pleasured his woman. He’s drowning in need, but he resists. Thorin parts their mouths for just a minute, and he thinks she’s going to bark at him not to dare spilling himself, but maybe she can see on his face that he’ll behave. He’s trained for this. He fucks her dutifully, as much and as hard as he can and she wants, while her hands roam all over him. She squeezes the hump of his ass and traces his spine, tugs at his sweat-matter hair and digs her fingers into his waist. 

He feels it when she comes—her juices squelch up around him, and she roars in his ear. Her arms clasp suddenly around his shoulders, her thighs squeezing at his sides, and Ori dutifully continues filling her, while Thorin bucks wildly into him to ride out her own release. Her body clenches at him, and it’s mind-blowing, but he still holds back. He nuzzles into the side of her face in lieu of kissing her, because she’s using her mouth to scream. Her final thrust nearly knocks him off. 

And when she’s finished, when she slumps back, panting contentedly, Ori sits up to pull out of her. He stares at her for a moment, disheveled and sweaty and beautiful as she is, her thighs reeking of sex and the lips of her pussy smeared with her release. Her breasts heave against her tunic, threatening to pull it open, and her hair frames her head like a dark crown. For the billionth time, it strikes Ori how very much Thorin deserves to be worshipped. 

But he’s fulfilled his purpose, and he glances over his shoulder. He’s never been to the private washrooms of her chambers before, but that’s the appropriate place to go take care of himself. He wouldn’t dare finish inside her and risk getting her pregnant when she hasn’t chosen him for that—and likely never would—and he certainly wouldn’t touch her again without permission.

Before he locates the washroom, he feels her thick fingers around his cock, and he gasps and looks down at her. Thorin squeezes Ori’s shaft and pumps it, her thumb teasing the foreskin at the top while the rest of her meaty fingers wrap him in a tight embrace. Now that he’s given her release, he relinquishes his own, and he comes quickly in her hand, splattering his white seed across the covers. He can’t even feel bad about staining her sheets, because his orgasm puts him in a heady bliss, and all he can do is sway on the spot and stare at her in awe. 

She tugs his scarf, and he goes toppling down. He lands beside her, heavy and spent, and she arranges his body as she likes. Then she cuddles up against him. One leg tosses over his, an arm draping over his side. Her face is flushed, though not as much as his, and she wears a languid smile. She purrs to him, “Why do you look so surprised?”

He’s too busy panting to say more than, “I’m honoured.” He really is. Sharing a bed afterwards is a special privilege, and what he’s done to deserve that, he has no idea. 

For a moment, Thorin is quiet, her eyes far away. Then her lips fall back into their usual frown, and she says in her serious veneer, “You came with me, Ori. You marched with me to reclaim my kingdom, despite all the danger, when even kings and my own cousin would not. So long as you’re good for me, you’re welcome in my bed.” She finishes by reaching forward to peck his forehead: a lingering, warm thing that makes Ori shiver. 

He latches onto her suddenly, ready to detach the moment she tells him, but she only lets him snuggle into her. She’s warm and perfect in his arms, strong in certain places and hard in others. He can only hope for a chance to massage out all her tension; she deserves that much. She deserves everything. He was foolish and foolhardy when he first set out on their quest, but even having learned the dangers, he’d do it all again. He’d follow Thorin anywhere. 

Tonight, he follows her to sleep, wearing a big, giddy smile.


End file.
